Doctor Sherlock Pony
by wholockian1014
Summary: Sherlock, John and friends set out on a search for a mysterious vanishing blue box.


Doctor Sherlock Pony

Over the last fortnight or so, I have not heard a word out of my colleague. Or, at least, he has not been talking to me. He _has _been talking to Destiny Jane, his intern, though. She came by yesterday, and he couldn't shut up, but that doesn't prove my point. She came by with this amazing case file. A series of disappearing 1950s police boxes. One moment they're there, and the next they're gone. Sherlock has pondered for hours about this, even composing a piece on his violin called "Blue Box", but that has been the only thing I've heard out of him for weeks.

John's hooves clop around on the sidewalk. He was to meet Destiny Jane today, but she had called the night before to announce she would be a little late for tea. He rushes into a cafe and orders a table. He sits at a table and sighs. emMycroft /emwas emgoing to come too, but he decided not to, /emhe thought. He yearned for at least one word from Sherlock that explained everything!  
>The front doors bang open, however john doesn't rear his head to see who it is. Sherlock's dirty curly dark brown mane dripping with snow around Sherlock's pale face and navy scarf. "John. I found the box!" he gasps. Sherlock sits and opens one of his many laptops. He pulls up a link and pushes it to John's nose. That's when Destiny Jane walks in. A young colt points out her Cutey Mark to his mother. "Look mummy. A heart." "Yes, dear, now, listen to our father."<br>"Oh, Sherlock. You came." she says, blushing against her black skin. Her electric blue mane is wrapped into a tight bun, and when she smiles it relaxes slightly.  
>DJ tucks a little parcel into her satchel. "What's that?" asks Sherlock, and DJ opens her mouth but he stops her before she can say anything. "Chocolates. For whom?" he says. She sticks her nose in the air and walks off to another table, where a pale colt with a shockingly pink mane. "Destiny Jane. You came. Thanks." he says. "You're welcome, Rainey." she replies, and the two share a snog until Sherlock peeks.<br>"So, Sherlock, where is this box right now?" asks John tentatively. "Who knows! That's the big question! One minute it's there and the next it's gone! Astounding!" Sherlock exclaims, clasping his hooves under his chin. John, dumbfounded, rereads the article. "What does TARDIS stand for?" he asks. "The article states in paragraph 6 line 2 that "This 'TARDIS' stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space.' Whatever this mean's I've got no clue," Sherlock explains, a wide grin on his face. "They've even got a sound file of what this TARDIS sounds like. Here." He clicks on a speaker button and a loud wooshing noise fills the room causing fillies and colts to look around in alarmed fascination.  
>"There is no reason to be worried everyone. It's just my idiot friend's computer!" Destiny Jane shouts across the crowded cafe. The ponies go back to sipping their tea as she glides across the room to tell them off.<p>

"Sherlock! John! Uploading UNIT files onto your laptop is dangerous and frightening!" she hisses at them from between her clenched teeth. "They aren't UNIT files. It's an article on a website about this Doctor Whooves person." Sherlock says with a smirk. John stays silent. He doesn't want to be involved in this. "If I hear one more sound from your computer during this date, I will have you kicked out for the day. Both of you." DJ says and stalks off to snog Rainey.

Sherlock and John snigger as a petite waitress walks over. "What can I get you and your partner, MR. Holmes?" she asks, and John retorts, "We are not gay!" Sherlock shrugs and asks, "Two coffees. Black. No eyeballs. That was a nice try last time, Kilea." Kilea, as it says on her nametag, smiles politely yet mischievously and walks back behind the counter.  
>Soon, Sherlock and John sip on coffee while searching for more information on the "TARDIS". This causes confusion, but who cares? It's the information that counts!<p> 


End file.
